Un amore grande
by Shrike
Summary: Short dialogue between Italy brothers before World war 2


Inspired by song "Un Amore Grande" by Peppino Gagliardi

Un amore grande

„So, what is with this uniform, fratello?" my brother finally comes to the point after our coffees are already halfway finished. His invitation, the old terrace in pedestrian zone, cobbled street and early evening. The usual, like nothing is amiss these days. Such a transparent setting, he never was a subtle one. I almost dare to hope the topic would remain avoided, but the expected question now sends a shudder through me.

„Military look is the latest fad!" I grin despite my stomach knotting and display shiny epaulettes on my shoulders. I feel like a puppet. "Brings out my masculine side, don't you think?"

He stares at me across the table for a moment, then starts laughing loudly but abruptly stops when he realizes it was not a joke. "What? You are serious?"

I affectionately pat a helmet that rests beside my elbow and nod. I exaggerate the motion and expect my brother to smirk at me as he is known doing, with a mixture of superiority and scold. I am already preparing an answer for his taunt, but it never comes.

Instead, he flicks his wrist and my helmet is tumbling off the table and crashing on stones that pave the street.

"Hey, bro!" I manage a meek protest and mechanically reach out my hand to retrieve it, but his stern glare stops me.

"Enough of this nonsense, war is not a game!" I can tell he is angry. And afraid. One had to know him well to recognize it was his way of showing he cared. I wish I could reach across the table and hug him at that moment, tell him I am sorry for making him worry, tell him there is nothing he can do to stop me. Tell him I will miss him.

Instead I sit back and act confused. "Who said anything about war?"

"I tell you!" he shouted, then continued more quietly not to draw more attention, "Whole Europe, no – the world – has an eye on Germany. He's been acting damn suspicious lately. And you! Even you cannot seriously think that you two prancing about in new tanks is just for fun?"

"Si!" I nod emphatically. "Loads of fun!"

"And the target practicing drills?" his face was becoming darker. He was losing his patience.

"Si, si!" the fake smile widened till my cheeks hurt. I endure his questioning glances, see disbelief in his expression and keep the façade on.

"Fratello," he tried again locking his eyes with mine, his voice straining to remain calm. I feel my orbs breaking contact with his familiar, dark-green ones. I cannot do this if he looks me in the eye, he knew me too well, also. "Germany is going down the same road again, he is preparing for a new war. And this time he is going to drag you along with him." He spoke slowly, deliberately so, taking his time, as if explaining something important to a child. Drag me along? Oh brother, if you only knew.

"Open your eyes!" he continued louder, unable to constrain himself. The hot, southern blood was not used to pleading and he was pleading with me, reaching out to me, in his way. I almost break down, then and there, try to explain, ask for help.

But then I remember _his_ tall frame shrouded in black uniform with a black, broken cross on his forehead. Like a demon. Like a dead man. Being prepared for his own funeral.

Somehow, my voice sounds carefree when I say: „You worry too much. Doitsu is too big a square to do anything so reckless." I even scare myself with the naiveté I display, it sounds fake, mocking. Surely he's seen through it! Surely!

My brother just stares at me like he is seeing me for the first time. Then he frowns and looks away. „Stupido!" "He spits out bluntly. My fleeting glance tries to read his expression, his eyes, and what I see there breaks my heart.

Still, I manage a grin and bend to pick up the helmet. Of course, he is right. I am an idiot.

I dust off its spherical surface and place it on my knee. I love my brother and don't mind if he knocks it over again, but it was a gift from Germany and I wear it proudly. I know it makes me look ridiculous. I do not need my brother telling me I am no soldier. Who knows that better than me? The only one who doesn't seem to notice or doesn't seem to mind is Ludwig.

I still smile as I watch my brother stand up resignedly and toss two crumpled bills on table top. I wave after him as he turns and leaves without another word and, luckily, without a glance back. Maybe he was crying too.

Better than the whole Europe, no – the world – I know that Ludwig is concocting some dangerous ideas, dreaming some dark dreams lately. When he gets like that, I cannot melt the ice of his eyes and reach him. I cannot see the real him. So I follow, waiting for him to wake up from daze, praying it happens sooner rather than later. And button up my uniform.

I do not tell him about the white flag, though, which he sees as my distrust in him. I keep it close, always , for the moment he comes to his senses and wishes to end the insanity. But until then…

I put the helmet on my head, adjust its straps under my chin and start walking down the street. To all whom I pass I offer a smile. Some turn their heads away, some frown and bare their teeth in silent curse.

How could they understand?

If I don't go with him, he may never come back.

So, until then, fratello addio, addio a tutti.

Tornero…

THE END


End file.
